Dusted Handprints
by zlydjia
Summary: Kurt sighed and rubbed his temple with his index finger, trying to remain calm. "I thought we decided you would stick to the store, sweetie," he said. "Last time you blew up the microwave trying to make hot chocolate." Oneshot


"What the hell are you doing?"

Blaine turned around, hips bumping into the counter as he tried to hide his mess. It didn't work well; flour covered the counter and egg white was slowly dripping to the floor in a gooey stream. "Uh.. nothing," Blaine stammered.

"Nothing?" Kurt questioned, eyebrow raised. "It looks like the Pillsbury Dough boy had a party in your hair."

"Actually it was Betty Crocker. I was attempting to make you a birthday cake."

Kurt sighed and rubbed his temple with his index finger, trying to remain calm. "I thought we decided you would stick to the store, sweetie," he said. "Last time you blew up the microwave trying to make hot chocolate."

"How was I supposed to know that you're not supposed to leave the spoon in?"

Almost automatically, Kurt's eyebrow rose to his hairline. _How did this boy ever make it in private school?_ he thought, sighing again. There should be caution tape separating Blaine from anything kitchen related. Instead of answering though, he grabbed a sponge and started cleaning up the egg, which had started crusting on the counter. Kurt rubbed furiously as Blaine started taking bowls and kitchen utensils to the sink, humming as he moved.

A small pile of flour stared Kurt down as he bent over the egg. He smiled softly to himself, a devious plan taking seed in his brain. Stealthily he wiped his hand dry on his pants and dipped it in the flour, covering his palm and fingers with the powder. Then he waited for Blaine to pass by again.

With a resounding smack, Kurt's flour covered hand made contact with Blaine's ass. He jumped, hip colliding with a drawer knob as he dropped the batter covered bowl to the floor. Blaine rubbed his hip bone, swearing violently, and turning in an awkward circle to examine the back of his pants.

"Aw, I'm sorry," Kurt fake-pouted. "I didn't mean to get your pants dirty."

Blaine just bent down to retrieve the bowl. Kurt got a clear view of his hand print on Blaine's ass. It turned him on strangely, like he's just marked Blaine as his own. He felt a small growl form in the back of his throat before something wet and sticky hit him on the cheek.

Kurt turned around to see a spatula in Blaine's hand and a smug smile on his face. "I'm sorry," he mocked. "Didn't mean to get your face."

"Just be glad this isn't in my hair or you and your first born would be dead," Kurt deadpanned, then he shoved his hands into the flour again and flung them at Blaine, before wrapping them behind his head and pulling him into a kiss.

Blaine's mouth opened and their tongues swept together briefly before he pulled away slightly. "Let me clean that up for you," he whispered a fraction of an inch from Kurt's mouth. His tongue licked the crease of Kurt's lips, before making its way along the line of vanilla cake batter. Blaine could taste Kurt's sweat faintly, the salty tang made the hint of vanilla that much sweeter; he moaned softly against Kurt's cheek. Kurt was breathing shallowly, and each little puff of air hitting his ear sent shivers down his neck and filling his body with warmth. He continued down the line of sticky batter, which reminded Blaine of other things they'd done involving less sweet substances, and he groaned slightly again.

Kurt's fingers were trailing up and down Blaine's chest; they reached the hem, and then slipped underneath it, tracing the outlines of Blaine's abs with their pads. Blaine reached the crook of Kurt's neck and gently grazed his earlobe, before moving down and sucking gently below it.

"You make it really fucking hard to stay mad at you," Kurt said, twisting his neck closer to Blaine's warm mouth.

"I could say the same for you," Blaine whispered, his hot breath filling Kurt's ear. Kurt pulled away, before bringing their lips together again. This time their tongues danced together, fighting for dominance. Blaine tasted of vanilla and cinnamon and that something else Kurt couldn't quite describe. If he had to, it would probably be passion, need, but they were always in the middle of something when Kurt got a hint of it and he was too damn busy to puzzle it out. He could feel the pressure of Blaine's hand on the back of his head, bringing him closer. His teeth gently gripped Blaine's bottom lip before he pulled away in confusion, nose wrinkling.

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

"Is that smoke?"

"OH SHIT! THE CAKE!" Blaine yelped, running over to the oven. He opened it, and thick smoke poured out.

"Let's stick to the bakery next time, bud," Kurt commented, examining the blackened mess that Blaine was juggling. He threw it in the sink and turned on the water, steam hissing when it hit the hot pan.

"You distracted me," Blaine retorted.

"You're the one who wanted to clean me up. A sponge works just fine in that situation."

"Hey, I don't see you helping my mess," he said, gesturing down at his pants.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You'd enjoy that, I'm sure. But it's not gonna happen. Not until I get my cake."

"Fuck you," Blaine said, defensively. Kurt winked and a sly smile crept to his mouth.

"If you insist…"


End file.
